If the way Pratchett lampoons Ankh-Morpork’s guilds and civic machinery—Vetinari’s dry manipulations, the Assassins’ Guild’s “respectable” homicide, and the Watch’s paperwork-fueled heroics—made you grin, you’ll love the BookWorld’s Special Operations in The Eyre Affair. Thursday Next polices literary crimes with deadpan wit as absurd agencies, officious memos, and rule-bound chaos collide—very much the spirit of Vimes wrestling order from nonsense, just with time-slips, prose-jumping, and weaponized bureaucracy.

You liked following Vimes and Carrot sift clues about the gonne—ballistics in a world that shouldn’t have any, guild alibis, and Angua’s nose turning up what forensics can’t. In Rivers of London, PC Peter Grant learns to do proper police work while tracking a case that distorts faces and memories, guided by the enigmatic Nightingale. It’s the same blend of evidence, interviews, and arcane oddities you enjoyed when the Watch pieced together Edward d’Eath’s plot and confronted Dr. Cruces.

If you loved the Watch as a true team—Vimes’s gruff steadiness, Carrot’s earnestness, Angua’s secret, Detritus’s unexpected ingenuity, and even Nobby/Colon’s shambolic utility—you’ll click with the Wayfarer’s crew. The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet is all about camaraderie under pressure, where clashing backgrounds (think dwarfs and trolls working a beat together) become strengths. It delivers that same found-family buzz you felt during Cuddy and Detritus’s partnership and the Watch’s inclusive expansion.

The delicate dance between Vetinari, the Assassins’ Guild, and the Watch—who gets power, who keeps order, and who gets blamed—echoes through The Goblin Emperor. When Maia inherits a treacherous court, he must navigate knives-in-smiles politics, patronage, and reform. If the backroom stakes around Vetinari’s near-assassination and Carrot’s quiet authority hooked you, you’ll relish Maia’s battles to bend an ossified system without breaking it.

Pratchett’s ‘gonne’ whispers to its holders and twists their judgment—Edward d’Eath and Dr. Cruces are undone by the power they think they control. Gun, with Occasional Music takes that idea into a surreal noir future: outlawed questions, evolved animals, and a lethally seductive weapon redefine guilt and responsibility. If the ethical chill of Vimes refusing to let a tool dictate the law stuck with you, this will, too—only darker and stranger.